


Bacchanal

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [44]
Category: Actor RPF, Celebrities - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Shakespeare - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: Chris and Tom have an unexpected effect on Sir Ken, and then Tilda has a very expected effect on me, all on one beautiful cocktail-fueled afternoon/evening.Featuring a song from Shakespeare’s “Othello”Rated Mature for too much drinking and alcohol
Series: The Manse [44]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209447
Kudos: 2





	Bacchanal

Taking advantage of the unseasonably warm and sunny January day, I decide to take a nice long walk on the grounds of the Manse. Instead of the usual haunts, I take a detour into the copious jungle paths and enjoy the beautifully bizarro sounds of wild peacocks attracting mates and lyre birds pretending to be peacocks attracting mates but failing because they sound exactly like car alarms and cell phones ringing. After about half an hour, just when I feel like there’s no one else on Earth, I hear rustling behind me, closing in on me at an alarming rate. I barely get to look over my shoulder when quick and heavy footfalls vibrate through the ground.

“Coming through!”

I hop out of the path into the ferns before I get railroaded by an absurdly huge and muscular Australian. He’s shirtless and wearing only blue bathing trunks and sneakers as he waves at me without a single pause in his stride. I squint at the back of his blond head. “Was that... the God of Thunder?” I ask myself.

“Make way!”

I turn and jump again just in time to recognize Tom sprinting past, clearly in pursuit. He too is in naught but swimming attire. He runs backwards a moment, grinning as he gives me a quick salute. “Excuse my impudence, Madam!” he says, then scurries off again up the path.

Both Chris and Tom running around like fools. Suddenly, things make a little more sense. “What the fresh hell is Tilda up to?” I say aloud, picking up my pace.

A few minutes later, I come upon the pool, emerging from around the back of the pool house. It’s quiet and empty save for yet another shirtless man lounging prone on a chair in the sun, reading a novel. I jog over, taking a seat on the edge of the chaise beside him.

“Why hullo, missus,” Sir says as he slips off his sunglasses to smile up at me. “How was your run?”

I give him a kiss on the temple, then grab the water bottle he has on the floor at his side and take a swig. I feel almost blinded by just how lily white and freckled he is under the full glare of the sun. “Please tell me you’re drenched in SPF 100 right now.”

Sir marks the page in his Agatha Christie and frowns. “Now how on earth am I to get a healthy skin tone that way?”

I groan, roll my eyes and stand up, stomping straight into the pool house. I slip into the little bathroom and grab a bottle of sunscreen from the medicine cabinet and come back outside. “For the last time,” I say aloud as I return to my husband, “I’d rather you live forever pasty as a ghost than die early of melanoma.”

Sir shrugs at me and opens his mouth to protest but snaps it shut as soon as he sees me furiously squeeze out a generous dollop of cream onto my palm. He puts his glasses back on and goes back to reading while I start slathering his shoulders and back with the appropriate protection. As I swipe some up his arms, he hums happily. “You ever think that maybe I just wanted an excuse for you to rub me down?”

“Bloody cheek,” I mumble, making him chuckle.

Just as I get started on his legs, the silence is shattered by an enormous splash in the pool only feet away from us. The tsunami that ensues crests over the edge of the pool and floods the patio at my feet. We watch as the epicenter of the wave splashes again, revealing a mountain of muscles rising from the depths. The vision of the water streaming down Chris’ taunt back and shoulders makes me gulp. He laughs and hoots and shakes his head, water spraying off his hair in all directions.

A second later, Tom hollers and barrels out of the woods, leaping over the pool’s edge and curling into a cannonball, inexplicably generating another tsunami even bigger than the last. When he emerges from under the surface, he starts wrestling with his onscreen brother as a if they never left childhood.

I finish Ken’s legendary gams, then grab the sunscreen again. “Alright, flip over,” I say.

Ken doesn’t even twitch. He’s given up on his book and appears transfixed by the boyish display in the shallow end of the pool.

“Ken, other side.”

“I... I’m not sure that’s the best idea at the moment.”

“Excuse me?”

Ken cranes his neck toward me, wrinkling his face sheepishly. “You’re seeing what I’m seeing, right?”

I tilt my head at him. “The big Hemsworth is trying to drown the Hiddles in our pool.”

“Yeah, ummm...” Ken blinks awkwardly and a mischievous smile slowly appears.

My jaw drops. My heart stops. “Oh my God.”

He points at the wet sexy beings before us and shrugs. “They’re very stimulating fellas.”

My face does an entire gymnastics routine that ends with a pleasant blush. “Oh Ken... are you—”

“I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t have hot flashes right now.” He waves at them again. “If I were 20 years younger—”

And I’m suddenly having hot flashes, but for a totally different reason. “If you were 20 years younger, WHAT? Pray tell.”

“Hey, Sir Kenneth!” Chris yells after he tosses Tom into the deep end. “G’day, Madam! I hope you don’t mind us borrowing your pool. Tilda said it would be OK.”

“It’s fine!” I say. “Just don’t bruise yourselves now!”

“Nice to see you again, Chris!” Ken says with a friendly wave. “They’re crazy as a box of frogs, those two.”

Tom swims over and grabs Chris again, pulling him into the deep end with him, and Ken cannot tear his gaze away.

I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head. “Oh my God. I’ve got to get you all so very drunk.”

***********

As the afternoon wanes, the cocktails flow, and with the assistance of my sous bartender Tilda, we successfully manage to convince three very specifically attractive men to quaff to their hearts’ desire. In the kitchen together, we peruse recipe books and test liquors as the men get various levels of snockered out on the veranda.

“Hmmm, when did you acquire this one?” Tilda asks, having sipped a light green potable from a miniature wine glass.

“This week,” I say, testing out the beverage I just shook and poured into some Nick & Nora glasses. “Chartreuse is the bomb.”

“I’ll say.”

“What next, you think?”

Tilda looks off into space as she puts on her thinking cap. “Should we bring them down with ale and lager soon?”

“Have they snogged yet?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

We both stare at each other intensely and have a moment.

“How squiffy are you?” I ask.

“Respectably.”

“May I kiss you?”

She rolls her eyes with exasperation. “Madam, you always have an open invitation.”

“Oh good,” I say, reaching up to pull her altitudinous face down closer to mine. I kiss her the same way I sip my favorite liquors: with slow, closed-eyed respect and savor. She is exactly as I had imagined: smooth and soft and rich, but somehow more tempting after having a taste.

We open our eyes and both smile at each other, blinking and blushing with silent glee.

“I love you, Tilly.”

“I love you too, Madam.”

“Wait, what just happened in here?”

We both snap our faces in the direction of the sliding glass doors and see all three of our experimental subjects standing there, holding up their empty glasses with expectation.

Thomas squints at us, clearly the most smashed of the trio. “Tilly, are you snogging Madam right now? Andwhydidntyouinviteus?”

Sir Ken and Chris, though visibly tight, manage their loose lips a little better.

Sir bows and rambles. “Thomas, please, they are free to indulge at their whim whenever or wherever and without our permission.”

Chris, with one hand, holds Tom up from his stumble. “Brother, calm your tits. Or they may feel obliged to cut us off.”

Tilda and I wink at each other knowingly.

I take a deep breath and blow a kiss at them all. “Boys, what is your poison?”

“Oh, well, I don’t believe I can accurately or responsibly make choices at this juncture,” Ken says.

Chris laughs and points at him. “Sir, you are properly pissed! I never thought I’d see the day!”

Tom giggles incessantly. “He’s so fucking classy even when he’s on the edge,” he says, very carefully walking over to a nearest kitchen chair to take a seat. He waves his arms and grins at me. “He’s Irish. It’s the Irish in him. He can handle himself better than us!”

“No way, bloke,” Chris says as he sits down next to him, still holding up his empty glass. “He is much smaller than us.”

Ken crosses his arms over his chest and stares at them, sanguine as a Scottish mountain lake. “I’m just making up for the fact that I’m not as devastatingly handsome as the two of you.”

At that, Tilda scoffs audibly. “Bloody BOLLOCKS, Kenneth.”

“Yeah, that is utter crap.”

“Respectfully, Missus, you are biased,” Ken says with a smile.

“Respectfully, Sir, you are dead wrong.”

“Dreadfully wrong,” Tilda adds.

“You are actually, seriously respectfully wrong, Ken,” Tom says gravely, with a hiccup. He waves his finger at Ken. “Madam is right. But also, you are right, because Chris is demonstrably handsome anyway, like an actual god... so... yeah.”

“Oh shove it and hug each other already,” Tilda says, pouring herself a shot of Talisker whiskey. She nods at me, I nod back, and she pours me the same.

I lift my glass and clink it with hers. “To the homofeels.”

With that, we knock back our shots and wince but a moment, lest we miss some sexy developments. But we stare at our men expectantly for a few seconds too long. They all just return our gaze with equal expectation.

I shake my head and huff. “Christopher! Would you be so kind as to give Sir a hug, please.”

Chris, all smiles and warmth, eagerly steps over to Ken and scoops him up in a giant bear hug that lifts him off his feet. Ken laughs nervously, but deep down, I know he’s enjoying every fucking second. When Chris puts him back down, he kisses both his cheeks and laughs, clapping Ken on the shoulder heartily. “Give me some ale! I must toast to Ken! Our true God of Thunder and our fearless leader!”

Tom knocks his fist on the table. “Here, here! To Sir Kenneth! The Shakespeare Knight! Once more unto the breach and all that!”

Buoyed by this old fashioned show of brotherhood, Tilda and I are all too eager to fill their glasses at this. We swoop in and bring them freshly uncapped bottles of beer. We join them, clinking our drinks in a fivefold toast.

“Let’s have a song, Ken,” I say gently into my husband’s ear as I wrap an arm around his waist. “Honor us with your dulcet voice.”

Ken shakes his head, kissing my mouth shut. It’s an unexpectedly lengthy kiss, and as he tugs me closer with his free arm, I find myself dizzy as much with drink as with his attentions.

Everyone claps and hoots.

“Oh, come, Kenneth,” Tilda says. “Just a snatch of a tune for us, pray sing.”

Silence ensues as we all take a sip of our own drinks, awaiting Ken’s reply with equal eagerness.

Sir kisses me once again, quickly, then hands me his bottle of beer and takes a bow before he clears his throat and his mind.

_“King Stephen was and-a worthy peer,_

_His breeches cost him but a crown;_

_He held them sixpence all too dear,_

_With that he call’s the tailor lown;_

_He was a wight of high renown,_

_And thou art but of low degree,_

_‘This pride that pulls the country down,_

_Then take thy auld cloak about thee.”_

A drinking song from _Othello_. Of course! I am struck dumb but everyone else erupts with applause and enthused cheers.

Sir bows deeply, then takes me back about my waist, holding me tightly against him, as if I were wont to escape, which is just as well, because I am faint with swooning and need the support.

Tom pushes back from the table and makes a wobbly effort to stand on his own. He grins and eyes Tilda, beckoning her with one hand. “Come here, you lovely dear,” he says softly.

Tilda takes his hand and drapes his arm over her shoulder, bracing him against her. She holds his chin between two fingers and helps guide him in for a quick kiss, then frowns at him. “You are going to need a nap, sweetie. And lots of coffee in the morning.”

Tom scratches his mop of curly hair and laughs. “She’s not wrong.”

With that, she begins to guide him back outside. “But first, a walk and some fresh air.”

We watch them go for a moment, then Ken reaches out with his beer glass and clinks it against Chris’.

“To Bacchus!”

Chris lights up. “To Bacchus, absolutely! And to Madam, high priestess of tonight’s bacchanalia.”

“To Missus Madam!” Ken says, and we all toast to that.

*************

Late into the night, I make sure I serve everyone some “beef tea” to rehydrate and replenish some electrolytes before ending our session. I give Tilda a goodnight wink as she leads Tom to her apartment in the Guesthouse and I lead Ken upstairs. More tired than anything else, we both lazily change and manage to brush our teeth before collapsing into bed.

Curled up against him, my cheek on his chest, I shiver a little and he squeezes me tighter. “I hope you enjoyed getting some love from your men tonight,” I say.

Ken’s chuckle thrums against my ear. “I’m surprised you didn’t go in for one yourself. Chris is a strong and proficient hugger.”

I rub my hand up his arm and squeeze his shoulder. “I have all the hugging material I need right here.” I look up at him, catching his blush as a bemused expression forms on his face.

He touches my chin with one finger and shakes his head gently. “Why don’t you have a night of fun with one of those boys? They’re sure to be more… athletic… than me.”

“Oh, Ken,” I say, my heart squishing sweetly like a ripe persimmon. I give him a moment to just gaze into my eyes so he may read the pure affection there. I take a deep breath and give him a firm kiss. He smiles again as I lay my hand over his heart. “You are all I want. All I need.”

He nods. “And Stephen and Jon of course.”

“And Stephen and Jon of course,” I add with a wave of my hand. I sigh and we resume our sleepy hug. “You three are all the athletes I need.”


End file.
